And Then There Were Fewer
by Mynt Mint
Summary: Warning: Contains Character Death. Full Summary Inside.
1. Target: W Schuester

**Title**: And Then There Were Fewer  
><strong>Author<strong>: Mynt Mint  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: _Glee_, Season Two, AU  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Mystery/Suspense  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Warning(s)<strong>: Character Death  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> None in relation to plot  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Glee. If I did, you'd know. All characters and songs used in this fan fiction are the property of their rightful owners (i.e. not me). Title is taken from the Family Guy episode _And Then There Were Fewer _based off of Agatha Christies _And Then There Were None_.

**Summary**: The New Directions stay at a luxurious and deserted mansion at a stop off before reaching the airport to Nationals. But when they wake up to a murder scene, it is clear they are isolated from civilisation, stuck in large, dangerous house of the killer's domain. Time is of the essence, and the group must discover the identity of the murderer before they all become victims.

**Authors Note: **I'm just so evil in my plot ideas, I can't even. This is a test run, to see if anyone would like me to continue with this story. Even if you just anonymously review saying "Continue", it will be enough of a cue to keep my writing, so it's in your hands.

Also, this is AU in the fact that to reach the airport, they needed to stop for one night, but the accommodation is provided by the committee hosting Nationals, or so it seems. Relax, I see the contradiction there ;D .

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><p>"We're here!" Rachel announced joyously, bursting through the mahogany doors of a lavish mansion. "Wow, I wouldn't think they'd give us such a luxurious house considering we are only just finalists." She turned with a worried expression to the others behind her, who were also amazed by their accommodation. "Nationals must be more prestigious than we thought."<p>

"Relax, Rach," Finn said, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure we'll do fine at Nationals. After all, we have you."

"Oh enough of this lovey-dovey crap, the whole bloody bus ride here was full of it," Santana interrupted, barging in-between Finn and Rachel, breaking the deep connection they held with their eyes. She took a tentative glance around her, before waving her hand majestically. "Tonight! We live like kings!"

"Calm down, guys," Mr. Schue sighed, "We're only here for one night, don't go making a mess."

"We should all rest our voices and think of a song to perform at Nationals."

"Oh can it, Berry," Puck barked, negating her suggestion. "This place is huge, there's probably a thousand maids to clean up after every footstep we take."

"Actually, we got this whole place to ourselves," Mr. Schue explained, reading from the letter he was holding. "And it says we all have our designated rooms, and food is in the kitchen for whenever you're hungry."

"Man, can we eat now? I feel like I haven't eaten in days." Finn's eyes lit up at the mention of food, his stomach making it obvious of his starving condition.

"What are you talking about? You ate _all_ my fruit on the ride here," Kurt quipped, walking into a corridor. "I'd bet the kitchen and dining room is this way – I can smell the tiles and stainless steel."

"All I can smell is carpet," Brittany mumbled as the group followed Kurt's direction.

* * *

><p>The New Directions sat around a large rectangular dining table, eating carnivorously. The table could easily seat all of them and the mounds of food required to feed such a large bunch, but there was one question clouding Artie's mind that could not be quelled by lavishing amounts of food.<p>

"So... does anyone know why we got a mansion to ourselves?" He asked, temporarily putting a stop to the clanking of cutlery.

"Because we're favourites for Nationals?" Kurt guessed humourlessly.

"I've been thinking about that too," Puck mused, "Did you see the bridge we had to cross to get here? I swear it was taken from the movies – wooden and creaky."

"Something's really weird..." Tina said with a hint of fear, "it doesn't make sense to give us this kind of accommodation _before_ we've even got on a plane to New York."

"Guys, you gotta relax," Finn said airily, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potato. "We get to stay in this gigantic mansion because we need a place to stay for the night and it was here. I don't know why you're complaining, just loosen up and eat."

Mumbling agreements, the New Directions dropped the topic of discussion and continued eating.

* * *

><p>Mr. Schue sat in the mansion's living room, looking over papers strewn across the coffee table. Among them was an Ohio newspaper, bearing the heading "<em>WMHS Student David Karofsky announced missing."<em> He had to get these permission slips and plane tickets in order for the flights to Nationals, or else the New Directions will lose before they even hit the airport tomorrow. Staring into the crackling flame of the fireplace, he mentally corrected himself.

_Before they hit the airport _today.

Looking at the grandfather clock, he confirmed it was two o'clock. His eyelids were notably heavier than they were when he was fully rested, so naturally he didn't notice the lurking figure by the doorway. He continued flipping through papers until an impatient cough sounded, echoing through the room. Mr. Schue twitched a little in fear, realizing someone was watching him.

"Who's there?" He asked, not moving from his spot.

"It's just me," a voice responded, the figure stepping out of the shadows and fully into the room.

"For the love of God, you scared the hell out of me," Mr. Schue yawned, seeing one of his students he rubbed a hand over his brow. "Why are you up so late? You should be in bed, we have a plane to catch tomorrow."

"I know," his student assured with small smile, "I just couldn't help but think why we were given such an extravagant bed and breakfast. And I know why we did." They stated firmly.

"Didn't Finn sort this out at dinner? We should all be thank-"

"_The_ reason, and _the_ only reason," the individual continued fiercely, "we acquired such a lavishing retreat is for one of us to take action, and bring their revenge bear fruit."

"The _what?_"

"One of us – _me_ – planned such an elaborate scheme, just to relay the thanks I owe you for abandoning me months ago. And then you all welcomed me back with open arms, it was even more insulting. I just leave and everyone forgets, and when I come back we're all just best friends again."

"We're not just best friends," Mr. Schue said quietly, "we're all one big family...!"

The figure pulled their hand out from behind their back, showcasing a large butcher's knife, lodging Mr. Schue's words in his throat.

"We're a family, and you all treated me like the adopted child. With pity."

"We didn't," Mr. Schue began to panic. His adversary was slowly approaching, and from the twitch in their eye their intentions were clear. "Put down the knife." He commanded, standing up to his full height. The sleep was scared out of him and he was as alert as ever.

"But I need it," was the eerily calm response. Mr. Schue copied his opposition's steps, walking backward for each one forward until his back came into contact with the hard mantelpiece.

"Shit, stop! Don't-Don't come any closer!" He tried to make his voice loud and intimidating, but his form was shaking and he was silently whimpering.

"Why should I?" His acquaintance had now reached him, and they were toying with the tip of the knife with a finger. "You're just the first. With you gone I can take the rest without a leader."

"But-But why?" Mr. Schue gasped as he felt the knife gently rest on his sternum. He tightly closed his eyes, and securely gripping the mantelpiece, his breathing became hitched with sobs. He thought of everything – the kids, the school, Emma, his job. Hell, even his ex-wife and Sue, even them. The thoughts of everything that he was leaving behind replaying in his mind, and he felt the taunting tip of the blade pierce his skin slightly. He let out a whine of pain as the knife slowly crept into his skin, inch by inch. Even with the fireplace at his legs had he never felt so cold.

"Because." The knife was forced into Mr. Schue, only the hilt protruding. The victim's eyes opened wide as the blade was removed with a swift motion. Mr. Schue's mouth was gargling words, but unable to pronounce anything audible. His upright position abruptly cowered into a hovering one. His last breath escaped his lips and his eyes slowly shut. He slowly slid down the wall, resting peacefully against the fire.

* * *

><p><strong>Should I continue this?<strong>

This is just an idea, but I would like your opinion with whether I should keep writing. I have plans for it, put please tell me if you enjoyed reading this.

Also, the reason Mr. Schue is resting against the fireplace and not falling into it is because a screen is separating them. I have one like that in my house, so it's plausible.

And I'd love to know who you think the murderer is. If my characterisation is right it might be solvable. But why? I know why. And Kurt being able to smell the kitchen? It was meant to be he could smell the stainless steel and tiles and all that because he cooks a lot and is adept at textiles used for the kitchen but whatevers.

**For every review I receive I squeal a little with joy... and I'm a guy.**


	2. Objective: Seal the Exits

Okay, I made a small second chapter. I'm very sorry it's so small, but I have to do so much school work I haven't done I can sense my grades dropping as we speak. Please, leave some reviews and stuff, I enjoy those. Having some fun experimenting with foreshadowing, and I'm very awkward when it comes to writing the reaction to the death scene, but I'll fix it later if I have to.

So, presenting chapter two! Did I hear booing?

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><p>"Hey, why are you up so late?" Finn asked with a faint smile. He leaned against the doorway of his 'bro's room, his lidded eyes focusing on an object on the mahogany desk. "What's that?"<p>

"Oh, just a knife from dinner," a voice replied airily. Finn couldn't see anything past a silhouette in the dim light, but he knew who he was talking to. His sleepy state didn't register that the mere size of the knife would clearly show it wasn't from dinner statement, so he assumed it was. "It has a nice pattern, I want to copy it for some designs." Finn's eyes noticed blurs of white colour, his eyes still not ready to fully aim, but even clueless Finn could tell it was paper.

"Cool," he replied. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him of why he had risen from his bed in the first place. "I'm off to get a midnight snack. Night," he said thickly. Pushing himself off the framing, Finn pressed a button on his phone, lighting his passage to his awaiting feast.

Chuckling darkly, Finn's correspondent placed a red marker in their grip. Moving a piece of paper in the middle of the desk, they crossed out a portrait of Will Schuester, leaving their fellow glee-clubber's portraits unmarked. For now.

With a smirk, the figure hid the paper into the desk drawer before sliding out of their seat, knife in hand, plotting their next target.

* * *

><p>As the harsh sun rose over the mansion, Rachel perkily sat up on her bed. She checked her phone on her bedside table: it was just past six. Perfect.<p>

Jumping off her mattress and onto the lush carpet, she takes a minute to stretch. Normally, her day would begin with some indoor exercise and vocal tuning, but with such a sun outside one cannot simply dismiss it. Feeling comfortable to train in her pyjamas (shorts and a singlet, perfect for a work out) Rachel headed towards the front door. Passing through the Living Room, she gave a cheery smile in Mr. Schue's direction. Until she realized it was a corpse. Recoiling in horror, the smile on her mouth immediately faded. She emitted a perilous scream and tried to calm the pacing of her heart with a shaking hand, but it did little.

Her trained voice awoke the rest of the New Directions, who all groggily assembled to her sound, still in pyjamas. Their groggy faces were sobered at the crime scene. None knew how to act.

"Rachel," Finn gasped, barely holding back tears, "what happened?"

"Finn- I-I" Rachel began, before completely breaking down. She closed her eyes, allowing tears to fall before crashing into Finn's awaiting embrace. "Finn – I don't – I don't know! I came down –and –and he was dead!" She bawled miserably.

"Oh my God," Tina wept, backing away into a wall. Upon feeling the stableness behind her, she slid to the floor. "Look at the blood!" She let out an exasperated cry before Mike ran to comfort her, trying to control his silent tears himself.

While the two boyfriends soothed their respective relations, ("Shhh! It's okay, just breathe..."), Santana emerged from the group and demanded authority. "Guys, I know it's sad," she said, with no apparent grieving in her voice. "But this was a murder."

"Murder?" Finn blurted, gently rocking a for once quiet Rachel in his arms. "But that's-"

"There's a knife wound and blood. Murder," Santana stated dryly. She would have inspected the scene more thoroughly, but she couldn't risk letting a weep of mourning escape her lips. "Mr. Schue was murdered." Her blunt repetition provoked another sob out of Tina, and gasps from everyone else.

Puck felt a small tear slide down his cheek. "But that means..."

"...Someone murdered him. One of us," Santana confirmed. Murmurs ran through the group as they stared suspiciously at one another. The new revelation seemed to have cured most of the crying, but the general tone was still one of fear and anguish.

"Call the cops," yelled a horrified Artie, reaching down to recover his phone from his pants before realizing they were pyjamas.

Darting to the living room phone, Quinn dialled _911_ while anxiously wringing the cord between her fingers. "There's no reception," she sighed, with a slight tremble to her voice. "Someone get their mobile!"

"I'll get mine," Kurt volunteered, a slight hiccup in his voice. His eyes were puffy and red as he left the room, even though he released no vocal signs of crying.

Kurt was out of sight when the next conversation began, starting from a confused Brittany. "...But then who killed him?"

"Any one of us could have, but who would want to?" Rachel mused depressingly.

"_No one_ would want to – no one should want to!" Finn cried, "Mr. Schue was our teacher, but he was more than that. He was the head of our family."

"So then whoever let Schue swim with the fishes was someone who wanted to be the head of Glee," Puck reasoned. "Berry," he said accusingly, "anything to say?"

Rachel's face turned a pale green, before she flinched. "Me? How could I- how dare you-!"

"Can it, Yentl, everyone knows you always wanted to rule Glee," Santana responded, venom dripping on her words. "This was you!"

"I wouldn't kill just to usurp someone over a high school singing group!" Rachel defended, hurt at all the blame. Even Finn had taken a cautious step or two back from her, causing her to well up in miserable betrayal. "I didn't," she wept quietly, "I wouldn't-"

"Someone's taken my phone!" Kurt shrieked, returning to the room and silencing all prior discussion. "Someone's taken it, so I can't call anyone!"

"Are you sure you didn't just leave it some-"

"No! It was sitting on my bedside table all night. Someone's taken it," Kurt insisted, crossing his arms. He bit his lip, "we have to leave before something else happens."

"Kurt's right," Santana agreed. "Leave everything here and go back to the mini-van."

"Why can't we go back to our rooms?" Sam asked curiously.

"The real killer would be able to clean his tracks, haven't you ever seen CSI?" Santana stared in awe.

Rushing to the front door, they left the Living Room and the corpse of Will Schuester behind them. It didn't feel right, to leave their mentor's empty shell in such a position, but their safety was at stake. Breaking free of the mansion's insides, the plaintive wooden bridge was the only barrier between them and assumed safety. Their pounding footsteps were just metres away from the timber crossing when it spontaneously combusted into flames. Skidding to a stop, the group shrieked in horror and stepped backwards, afraid of lining their feet with flames.

"What the-?" Sam yelled, jumping back from the now sizzling bridge with surprise. "Hey-" spotting an unusual object sticking out of the grass, Sam bent down to pluck it from the green blades, "-Aha!" He exclaimed, gaining the attention of his surrounding friends. "Someone rigged this!" He brandished the magnifying glass he found proudly. His pompous voice soon diminished into one of apprehension at his next realization. "We're stuck here. No communication. With a murderer."

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><p>Okay this is way too short, but I like to end on cliff-hangers. Sorry if this feels rushed, because it is. I hope this can do for now, because I want to concentrate and make this suspenseful when I have the time.<p>

**Please review and critique and comment. For every review I get visited by a magical plot fairy in my sleep, and she motivates me to write good stories.**


	3. Target: F Hudson

Are you surprised to see this?

I am too. Anywho, I've started a new writing regime which translates into 100-200 words a day for each of my fictions. That may not seem like much, but with my motivation levels and my other 4 stories it's quite a lot of writing. I'm trying to iron out any continuity errors in this, because it's been so long since I've review the plot and etcetera, but I hope it's still coherent for the most part.

It's also a dismal 1,200 words or something, but I'll just say that's the _suspense_ part of the fiction. And you finally discover who the murderer is this chapter! It should be quite obvious, because I made a little mistake earlier in my writing which narrowed down the possibilities tenfold. But I still hope you enjoy!

And fingers crossed for good grammar and spelling on my part. Plus realistic portrayals of what people do after they find out they're probably gonna be killed! Prayer circle, everyone join hands! Okay, I'll shut up, onto the story.

**Please review, too, I like those review things. They taste nice.**

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><p>"So what do we do now?"<p>

The group had regathered in the Kitchen, too mortified to congregate in the Living Room now that it was occupied by a corpse.

"We have to wait here until someone realizes we're gone," Kurt surmised. "Hopefully when people realize their most antagonized singing group is stranded they'll come running."

"So we're just going to wait for each of us to die?" Puck stared incredulously, "That's bull! There's got to be another way."

"Well, I-" Kurt stopped mid sentence, eyes widening as his ears registered a sound. "Is that... beeping?" The atmosphere dropped as the sound reverberated, echoing from the fridge.

"Is it a bomb?" Sam asked, making everyone back up to the opposite wall. Finn took a deep breath and slowly opened the fridge with a shaky hand. "Guys, you can relax," he sighed in relief, "It's just my phone. It was beeping because of the low battery... Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Call someone, you twat!" Santana roared, "You have a bloody phone in your hand!"

"Oh. Right." Hastily pressing buttons, Finn held his phone near his ear. After a few resounding dial tones, he hung up with dismay.

"Out of credit."

Sighs of frustration rang through the room.

"Emergency call someone," Artie said quickly, voice tangled with urgency. "It's free."

"Cool," Finn said, smiling. His mouth distorted back into a thin line when the screen turned black. "Oops. No battery."

"You ret!" Santana lunged forward, fingers expertly curled into fists. If it wasn't for the expecting reflexes of Sam and Puck, Santana wouldn't be restrained mere inches from Finn's confused face.

"What are you doing?" he yelled, leaning away from her still flailing hands.

"We're going to die here!" she shrieked. "Die! And you're so freaking calm! Why? What are you hiding?"

"Santana, just relax," Rachel interjected, "I'm sure there's a perfectly valid reason as to why Finn's phone was in the fridge." She turned to her boyfriend, pleading with her eyes.

"I went for a midnight snack and left it there."

"Did you happen to notice anything weird?"

"Like the body of your victim!"

"Shut it, Puckerman," Rachel scolded. Finn's eyes glazed over as he slowly interpreted the accusation.

"You... you think I killed Mr. Schue?" he shuddered. Puck didn't let down his gaze. "H-how... how could you even... even _think_... he was like a father to me. I'd never kill my dad!"

"He was like a father to all of us," Mike stated quietly. "That defence is irrelevant."

"You... you all think I did it." Finn turned to Rachel, tears burning in his eyes. "Even you."

"Finn, I-"

"No!" he roared, kicking the side of the wall. "I can't believe you! All of you!"

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><p>Storming out of the kitchen, Finn allowed his contained tears to flow silently down his face. He couldn't believe the betrayal he was feeling. Everyone thought he had murdered the closest thing he had to a father - even the mere thought of being the culprit made him retch. How could they even think he was capable of something so immoral. Did he really leave the impression of a sadistic, bloodlusting teen?<p>

Usually during times like these he would seek guidance, but now there was no one to discharge to. He doubted anyone in the kitchen would risk a private talk, and Mr Schue was dead. He felt defeated, frustrated. Every inch of him wanted to scream his innocence, but he didn't know how.

But in the end, he didn't need to speak his innocence. It was obvious.

* * *

><p>Meals were tense, and their contents smaller in comparison to the day before. It made everyone wonder if their rations were limited, but no one dared to voice their suspicions and add fuel to the fire.<p>

It was night now, and everyone had returned to their separate rooms. An argument had surfaced as whether or not to barricade everyone within the same room for safety, but the possibility of sleeping next to a killer resulted in the notion being overruled.

Finn tossed and turned in his bed, unable to rest. He expected the insomnia, but not the irritation paired with it. He was tired, don't get him wrong, but the suggestion of sleep brought him pain with every blink. Throwing his sheets off in frustration, he slowly walked out of his room and dawdled quietly, without direction.

He rested against the door frame of the living room, soaking in the sight. It was tear-jerking, painful, and traumatic, but he walked towards the body anyway. He needed closure. He needed time alone with the passed, to calm his fears and cleanse his soul. Kneeling down, Finn positioned Mr Schue upright, recoiling but persevering at the cold touch of his skin. The dried blood crackled at the displacement, but Finn only stopped when the body looked comfortable.

He paused briefly, conflicted by his emotions. He wanted to cry, to scream, to rage. His reactions reverberated inside him, making him feel as if he was going to explode. Instead, he concentrated his feelings to demonstrate his words through song.

"_Stay low.  
>Soft, dark, and dreamless,<br>Far beneath my nightmares and loneliness.  
>I hate me,<br>For breathing without you.  
>I don't want to feel anymore for you.<em>

_Grieving for you,  
>I'm not grieving for you.<br>Nothing real love can't undo,  
>And though I may have lost my way,<br>All paths lead straight to you._"

Finn always thought that he was some sort of nostalgic memory to Mr Schue, a flashback of his own time in Glee Club. Mr Schue had been a substitute dad for Finn, and he aimed to live up to his expectations of him. If he was able to know what position he was in now... Finn couldn't even bear to think of the disappoint his teacher would feel. The team leader vibe he was so used to perpetuating was reduced to nothing now that he was accused of murder.

"_Halo,  
>Blinding wall between us.<br>Melt away and leave us alone again.  
>The humming, haunted somewhere out there.<br>I believe our love can see us through in death._

_I long to be like you,  
>Soul cold in the ground like you.<br>There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,  
>I'm coming for you.<em>"

All he wanted was to just dissolve from the world and reunite with his mentor. He couldn't take any more accusatory glances, or isolation due to misguided fear. He'd prefer to be the victim rather than the murderer.

"_You're not alone,  
>No matter what they told you, you're not alone.<br>I'll be right beside you forevermore._

_I long to be like you, sis,  
>Soul cold in the ground like you did.<br>There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you._

_And as we lay in silent bliss,  
>I know you remember me.<em>

_I long to be like you,  
>Soul cold in the ground like you.<br>There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,  
>I'm coming for you..."<em>

Finn stifled a sob when he heard light footsteps.

"I knew you'd be here."

"Yeah," Finn sniffed, "I just had to say a personal goodbye. I didn't kill him," he said pleadingly, locking eyes with his conversation partner.

"I believe you," he smiled, "But I didn't come to say goodbye to him. I came to say goodbye to you."

"W-what?" Finn said, confused. His furrowed brow creased, until his assailant withdrew a knife from behind his back. It was smeared with dried blood. "It was you! You did it!"

Finn's aggressor rolled his eyes, mimicking Finn's shock. "Say hello to Mr Schue for me."

* * *

><p>Finn knees buckled as an intruding blade entered his stomach. He choked, unable to inhale. He fell to the floor.<p>

Somehow the idea death was soothing. The pain would soon subside, and then there would never be any more. And this would prove his innocence more than testimony ever could.

In a way, death was just what Finn needed. And as his vision clouded, body turning cold, he couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

><p>"So much for being my 'bro'."<p>

The murderer had just finished organizing his corpses to his liking - side by side - when a horrified gasp was exhaled behind him.

"Kurt," Brittany choked. "_You're_ the murderer."

* * *

><p>The song used was <em>Like You<em> by _Evanescence_. I'm on a bit of an Evanescence fangirling episode, so I'm going to try and use their songs as much as possible.

I'm super terribly sorry for the four months (I think) you had to wait for this admittedly poor quality chapter, but just in case people actually want to read it, I thought I'd slowly continue.

**Please review, it's like an electronic motivation!**

-Mynt


	4. Target: B Pierce

Umm.. hi?

So I have school holidays now, which is very nice, but I have been given _holiday homework_, which is not very nice. Still, my aim is to complete at least one chapter from each of my glee fictions. Which includes this one. But it's short chapters sigh. I have taken some advice from reviews, and I just couldn't keep my otp away so you might see them implied, but it's okay because it will be central to the plot soon enough.

If you would like reading music I would recommend _Bleed_ by _Evanescence._ It's creepy accurate for this chapter.

youtube link: ** watch?v=QRzbwFdu1rc**

* * *

><p><em>Brittany stared, her feet frozen in the doorway, at the gruesome sight before her. The old corpse of Will Schuester lay, but with a new companion: the quickly colding Finn. And then there was Kurt, just as stiff as the two, but with an intense stare. His fist was still clenched, memory of the knife protruding from Finn's chest still lingering on his fingers.<em>

"_It's you," Brittany repeated. She wouldn't have believed it, even right now, but the slightly demented twitch of Kurt's eyelids was a giveaway. "You killed them."_

_Kurt raised placating hands. "Shh, Brittany, you don't want to wake anyone else up," he soothed. "It's not what it looks like."_

"_Really?" Brittany gulped, cynical, but not moving even when Kurt sidestepped a little. She followed his subtle movements with her eyes. "I know everyone thinks I'm stupid, but now you're just insulting me."_

"_I'm sorry," Kurt apologized, now close to the corpses. "Let me make up for it." As swift as he could, Kurt retrieved the knife from Finn's body. The shell resisted only slightly, lifting as the blade slid up and falling as it was removed. Kurt flung the weapon with all his might, aiming for Brittany's forehead. It would have hit, too, if she hadn't anticipated the attack and jumped to the left. The knife went on to pierce the wall, point first, inches into the wall._

* * *

><p>Brittany woke from her slumber with a gasp, shoving Santana's hand off her stomach as she bolted upright. Santana snored, then lazily opened one eye.<p>

"Why're you awake?" she asked groggily, pulling Brittany back down with her. She nestled into the crook of her neck, non fussed by the beads of sweat that already occupied the space, and certainly not distressed with the fact she was sharing a house with a cold blooded killer. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't," Brittany whispered, hands tugged protectively to her chest. "I had another dream."

"Another?" Santana groaned. "You sure?"

"Yes," Brittany said, "And it was like the first."

The first dream Brittany had on this trip was unsettling. She had dreamt that Mr Schuester was killed. Stabbed by the fireplace, to be precise. It was only when what she predicted came true that Brittany was motivated enough to confide in Santana. Unfortunately, Santana had been less than understanding.

"Britt," she had said, "You know I love you. But this is too much like the time you said zombies ate the AV Club."

But this time Brittany was not going to let the sickly feeling of ignorance reside in her stomach until morning. She slowly rose from the bed, certain to keep Santana draped by the sheets.

"Just don't let anyone see you," Santana warned, "We're not allowed to share rooms. Not that anyone will tell us off now..." she trailed off.

Brittany nodded and quietly slipped out the door. The carpeted hallway deftly muted the sound of her footsteps, as well as tingling her bare feet into a more conscious movement. Not that that small wake up was needed, as when she turned at the end of the hallway she saw the last signs of life slowly ebb from Finn's body, and Kurt above him with a knife.

Brittany gasped, a little too loudly, as Kurt's head jerked to her direction. His pupils dilated as he rose, lifting the knife out of Finn's body as he did so, resembling a lion stumbling upon its prey. Brittany was caught off guard as Kurt burst into a run, knife pointed out, towards her. Kurt rushed, pushing her against the wall and gingerly resting the knife on her neck. She shuddered, feeling both the pressure of the weapon and the cold blood from its previous victim. She didn't dare move, as she knew it would result in death. She felt completely and utterly helpless as her neck was pushed back more, losing ease of breath, locking eyes with Kurt until a piercing scream distracted him. It was Santana in the hallway, screaming blue murder. With a swift knee to the groin Brittany felt a sigh of relief when her neck was released. She ran towards Santana, hands timidly placed around her wound.

"The hell is going on?!" Puck's gruff voice yelled from a room, and a door opened to reveal both him and Sam. Puck's eyes trailed from Kurt kneeling on the floor, bloody knife in hand to the two girls hysterically fretting. "...Shit..."

"_It's Kurt! It's Kurt!_" Brittany cried into Santana's shoulder, as the hallway filled with the remaining students. "_Kurt killed Finn! He killed him and he tried to kill me!_" Brittany stifled her sobs on Santana, and the hallway was filled with quiet giggling.

Kurt shakily regained his stance, the force of his laughter making his shoulders heave. He grew louder, and everyone slowly tensed as he bellowed in a deep voice much unlike his own. Mercedes stepped out from the crowd, both hands gripping the cross adorning her neck. "Kurt?" she asked, as if saying his name would extract the evil from within him. It quelled his laughter, though, and he gripped onto the knife with white knuckles. "...Kurt?" She took a cautious step forward, then quickly back as he growled.

"So, you suddenly decided to care, did you?" he asked in a sickly sweet tone. He bellowed, quickly and harshly, before quieting again. "Well, I think you should be more worried about yourself." And with that, the knife in his hand was thrown so fast into the chest of the negotiator a blink would have missed it. Mercedes fell, and the others cried out as she choked on air.

"_Mercedes_!" Sam cried, moving closer until a hand jerked him back.

"_Run_," Puck whispered, as Kurt calmly went over to the body and knelt beside it. Oddly enough, the guilt felt of leaving a friend was not enough to overcome the fear of death, and the remaining New Directions quietly and rather easily escaped from the mansion.

* * *

><p>Kurt stroked Mercedes' fringe, lovingly observing the way she convulsed, trying to combat the lack of air reaching her lungs. He couldn't quite find a similar beauty than watching how blood stained clothes in such elegant patterns, or how quickly warm skin could turn to icy flesh.<p>

"Poor Mercedes'," he tutted, swatting her hands from the crucifix on her chest. He stared into her frantic eyes as she weakly tried to hold on to her talisman. Pulling the chain off her neck, he threw it away with a laugh. "Now, there's no point in that. It's not like you're going to climb a white escalator to the pearly gates? I doubt Saint Peter has enough time with all his applicants." He sniggered coldly, seeming to be most at life in the presence of the dying. "Oh," he jumped up, "I almost forgot." He roughly yanked the knife from her chest, and more blood leaked from her wound. "I'm going to need this." He watched his 'best friends' eyes flutter briefly, before walking in search of the others.

"Say hi to Finn for me," he chuckled, hoping she had enough time left to her that before leaving.

* * *

><p>"It's Kurt," Tina cried. The group was stuck at the burnt bridge, trying to locate a place to hide. "I can't believe it's Kurt. Why does he want to kill us?"<p>

"I don't know," Mike soothed, rubbing her arm. He noticed a looming shadow from the front door, and the figure quickly melted into the darkness. It was late, the bright moon casting plentiful shadows. A feeling of paranoia erupted in the group, unaware whether a shadow contained a killer or just empty space. "But we can't think of that now." He pointed to the forests that surrounded the back of the mansion, trying to convince himself the snap of a twig he heard was just an animal. "We have to hide! _Now_!"

* * *

><p>Okay, I hope you enjoyed. I fear my writing is lacking in goodness, so please tell me if there is declining quality.<p>

Thank for you being so patient, I really am appreciative.


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